


Shakespearean Love

by Pearl09



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Historically Inaccurate, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Character Death, but for fics, cause I couldn't give a fuck about writing in the right english, fluff angst and crack, if that's how you interpret it, it's like the holy trinity, just a little though, old english is stupid, what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 12:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20706374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl09/pseuds/Pearl09
Summary: Crowley promised Aziraphale to a day at the theatre after making Shakespeare popular. Afraid Hell might call him out for doing too many strange things, he orders the tickets the human way. Unfortunately, he wasn't paying attention when he bought two tickets for the special couples-only showing, and now his date is Aziraphale. What could go wrong?





	Shakespearean Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lurlur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/gifts).

> This is not the best but I still like it, and I hope all of you do too! But especially you, Lurlur. I hope you feel better <3  
Historical inaccuracies include: Changing when some plays were written, and the language probably sounds more modern because it's just easier to read/write.  
Thanks for reading!

_My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, that I must love a loathed enemy._  
~Juliet, _Romeo and Juliet_, Act I, Scene V  
~<3~<3~  
Crowley strolls through the crowded streets, keeping an eye out for the white ruffles and equally bright outfit Aziraphale was wearing the last time he saw him. There was a trip to Edinburgh in between this meeting and the last, and Crowley’s been busy making Shakespeare popular. He had promised a show to the angel once things began to settle.

He finds Aziraphale a few blocks away from the theatre, idly adjusting the ruffles on his sleeves as he searches the crowd, standing against the plaster wall so he isn't blocking the way. He locks eyes with Crowley and a smile blooms on his face, smoothing the last ruffle into place as he waits for him to approach.

“Hello, dear,” he greets, watching as Crowley stops in front of him, blocking the foot traffic.

“How was Edinburgh?”

“The horse was exactly as you’d expect. At least the poor thing didn’t buck me off.” He purses his lips. “And the tempting for you went well too. I didn’t stick around to see if he did eventually steal the cattle, but the tempting was accomplished.”

“I owe you one. And not just getting tickets for the hottest show this side of the Thames.”

“What do you mean, ‘getting tickets?’”

“I got them the human way. After using a miracle to make Willy Shakes popular in the first place and bluffing my way through a reason to give to Hell, I figured I should stay low on Hell’s radar.”

“Well, as long as we have the tickets, it doesn’t matter how you procured them. Shall we get going? We don’t want to be late.”

Crowley leads the way through the crowds, but he can feel the excitement coming off of Aziraphale from behind him. He puts effort into rolling his eyes at the feeling – he doesn’t understand how he’s excited to see a gloomy play.

The Globe looms before them as the crowd parts, and the sound of idle chattering fills the air. 

“Wait here and I’ll get the tickets, angel.” He leaves Aziraphale behind and walks over to the small wooden booth built outside the entrance.

“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asks.

“I have two tickets for Hamlet, under the name Anthony J.?”

She runs her finger down the parchment in front of her. “Yes, there you are.” She pulls two slips of paper off of the small pile and hands them over to him. “I hope you and your wife enjoy.”

Crowley accepts them but freezes when she says wife. “I’m sorry?”

“You and your wife! This performance is for couples? Sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have assumed, you could just be dating?”

“It’s my husband, actually,” he says automatically.

Her face lights up. “Oh! How wonderful. Enjoy the show!”

Crowley nods and saunters back over to Aziraphale, brandishing the two slips of paper for him to see. “We got tickets.”

Aziraphale frowns. “The rest of your sentence still hangs in the air, my dear. What happened?”

“Oh, nothing happened,” he says casually, extending his arm and interlocking it with Aziraphale's. “I just fucked up, is all.”

“You didn’t steal the tickets, did you?” Aziraphale says, horrified, but he offers a smile to the woman at the booth when she smiles at them.

“I thought you said you didn't care how I procured them." He rolls his eyes. "They were reserved; they were perfectly fine.” He leads Aziraphale up the stairs, looking to be as far away from Shakespeare as possible.

“Oh, look at those lovely couples,” he interrupts as he makes Crowley wait for the people coming down the stairs.

“That’s what I’m trying to say! I accidentally bought us tickets for the couple's showing.”

Realization dawns in Aziraphale’s face as they take a position together along the first balcony. “So they think we’re–”

“Husbands,” Crowley answers miserably. “I panicked.”

“Well then.” He grips the railing in front of him tightly. “As long as we don’t see anyone who would remember us, we should be fine.”

“Right,” he nods. “Of course.”

The universe never works in anyone’s favor, though. Aziraphale did see the show once before, with the brief interruption of Crowley coming in and proposing the arrangement. He finds it even more thrilling with the crowds now filling the theatre, and seeing their reactions to the play. Crowley finds himself zoning out at some point, paying more attention to Aziraphale than to the show. When the first two acts finish, and there’s a brief intermission, Shakespeare decides to take a short stroll to see how the audience feels, gravitating towards the two familiar outfits belonging to two familiar gentlemen as he is in the balcony. 

“Well, it is refreshing to see two familiar faces,” he says in greeting, causing the two to wheel around, shock on Crowley’s face and surprise on Aziraphale’s.

“Hello,” Aziraphale greets, his polite mannerisms taking over. Crowley shoots him a glare out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Come to watch Hamlet again?” He gestures to Crowley. “Well, I guess you did leave rather early after the last one.”

Crowley forces a smile, showing more teeth than necessary to try and scare him off. As long as he doesn’t ask who they’re with – 

“Prithee, gentles, where are your companions? I’d love to hear their opinions since you were both already here.”

Fuck. “We’re, uh. We’re actually here together.” 

“Oh?”

Crowley flounders, his usually cool demeanor faltering as he tries to figure out what to say. It’s not every day you see two men-shaped beings together, after all.

Aziraphale steps up and smoothly intertwines their arms, taking over the conversation. “We’re sorry for lying to you at our last meeting,” he explains. “We have to be careful when we’re out and about because our – families don’t like each other. Kind of like a forbidden love. Now that Hamlet’s grown so successful, however, we can easily hide among the crowds.”

Crowley looks to Aziraphale, shocked with how smoothly he was able to lie. He is an angel. Crowley should be the one that can lie like that, not him. He realizes belatedly that it probably looks like he’s smitten with Aziraphale and quickly turns his gaze back to Shakespeare, fighting down a blush.

“Forbidden love, you say? And your families don’t like each other?”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale nods.

“Kind of like enemies,” Crowley pitches in.

“Oh yes. They loathe each other.”

“They’d probably start fights in the streets if they saw each other.”

“It’s best to keep them apart.”

Shakespeare nods. “Interesting. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” He winks and walks away. Crowley watches his retreating figure, waiting until he’s out of sight to pull his arm from Aziraphale’s, letting out a loud groan as he looks up to the wooden ceiling.

“Oh, hush now, dear. I think it went rather smoothly.”

“Oh yes,” he says, turning to look at Aziraphale and lifting his voice into a mocking tone. “There’s nothing wrong with Shakespeare thinking we’re a couple.”

“I’m sure nothing will come out of it,” Aziraphale tries to reassure. “The next act’s about to start; I’m sure it will take your mind off of it.”

Crowley turns back around and grips the railing until his knuckles grow white. He grimaces and stays like that for the rest of the performance, deciding as Aziraphale pries him away that he needs to sleep for at least a month. By then, Shakespeare should have forgotten it, and he doesn’t have to worry about faking a relationship with the one he loves.  
~<3~<3~  
_No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning, and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may be said as lovers they do feign._  
~Touchstone, _As You Like It_, Act III Scene III  
~<3~<3~  
During Crowley’s nap, Hell sent him a note. He found it under his door when he woke up after the second month, having slept longer than he meant to. He doesn’t mind, of course, but now, he needs to hurry to deal with the note.

It wasn’t anything significant; they just wanted him to do more around the city as London continues to grow and flourish. Sowing mayhem isn’t as hard as one would think in this day and age – all he has to do is rile some horses, let them kick up mud and other things littering the streets, the noblemen and women get dirty, and then people start yelling at each other. And it’s rather easy to rile horses when you can shift form at will into a snake.

He spends his day slithering through the streets, avoiding the people and the carriages and whatever else is on the road while spooking the horses. One horse even rears back at the sight of him, coming loose of the harness, and running off, leaving the cart to block off the street for an entire hour as they try to chase the horse down. After watching one particular noblewoman scream about her ruined lace, Crowley suddenly gets the feeling of being watched. His head sticks off of the ground and he starts to curl up, preparing to strike whatever is staring at him. That’s when he locks eyes with the crystalline blue that only belongs to Aziraphale’s eyes. He’s watching Crowley with a disapproving look, even pursing his lips as if he’s trying to make Crowley feel bad. And, in a way, he is.

Aziraphale turns to walk away, and Crowley quickly follows, ignoring the screams of the people he weaves through and narrowly missing the umbrella someone tries to hit him with. He slips into the house just before Aziraphale closes the door, sliding past him before returning to his human shape and smirking as he leans against the wall.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while,” Aziraphale says in greeting, gently cradling a book in his arms. “You haven’t changed your mind on The Arrangement, have you?”

“Why would I back out of my own idea? I feel that I should be offended. It’s not like we usually see each other this often anyway.” He pauses before admitting, “I was sleeping.”

“Sleeping? Isn’t that something the humans do?” He pushes past Crowley to walk further into the house.

“Hang around the humans long enough, and you pick up their habits,” he shrugs, following after Aziraphale. “Just like you’ve picked up eating. And reading. Has anyone told you you should get a space for all of these books?”

Aziraphale sidesteps a teetering stack of books only standing by the force of a miracle and sets his new one down on an empty table. “Would you like some tea?”

“A library, perhaps?” He drops into an empty chair and sprawls across it. “A bookshop so you can get rid of some?”

“Now, is that really necessary, dear?” He walks back in with two cups of tea, passing one to Crowley on his way by before settling into another empty chair, pulling the new book towards him.

“What’s so interesting about that new book?”

“Oh!” He sits the tea down on the table before proudly displaying the cover for Crowley. “I was out last night with Shakespeare, and he gave me this autographed book of different sonnets he’s written. His plays are wonderful, but there’s something so intimate about reading poems.”

“Oh. I see.” 

“Poetry is just beautiful. It certainly is a remarkable human invention.”

“Mmhmm. And you stayed all night with Shakespeare?”

Aziraphale looks at him curiously. “Are you – jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous? It sounds like you had a wonderful time last night. With William Shakespeare.”

“You are! Oh, dear, why are you jealous? You’re still my best friend. Nothing will change that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Put in the friend zone. Harsh.

“Shakespeare and I are strictly friends. He’s not going to split up a relationship; it’s not like him.”

Crowley spits out his tea. “Who are you in a relationship with??”

“You, you idiot! You might not have seen him in a while, but he still remembers us pretending to be in a relationship! He thinks I’m taken. I’m helping him write letters to some potential suitors, actually.”

Running his hand down his face, Crowley groans. “I’ve been sleeping for two months, angel. I forgot. That’s why I was asleep. I thought he’d forget.”

“He’s a writer. He does remember these things.”

“What does being a bloody writer have to do with it?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “Nevermind. Would you like more tea?”

“I think I need something harder,” he mutters. “That, or I need to go back to sleep until Shakespeare’s gone.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, dear. It’s not like Heaven and Hell will pay enough attention to notice.” He pauses in thought. “Why would you be jealous, anyway? It’s not like we’re actually in a relationship. We’re just pretending because we went to the wrong showing.”

He sets his tea down and stands abruptly. “I should get going. More chaos to spread.” He really just wants to leave before Aziraphale’s words hurt him more. That, or before he confesses that he’d love for the relationship to actually be real. 

Aziraphale frowns slightly. “Of course. I’ll see you around?”

At the sight of his hopeful gaze, Crowley sighs and says, “Yeah. I’ll see you around, angel.” He shows himself out, walking back into the bustling streets.   
~<3~<3~  
_What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee there's something extra-ordinary in thee. Come, I cannot cog, and say thou art this and that, like a many of these lisping hawthorn-buds that come like women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple time; I cannot; but I love thee, none but thee; and thou deserv'st it._  
~Falstaff, _The Merry Wives of Windsor_, Act III, Scene III  
~<3~<3~  
The next time Crowley sees Aziraphale is a few years later. When he was walking through the park, trying to find the ideal spot to glue a few coins to the sidewalk, he wasn’t expecting to see Aziraphale again, still in almost the same exact ruffled outfit. Not that he changed much, either, but he had been thinking about getting rid of the goatee. 

“Hello, dear!” Aziraphale greets, stopping in front of Crowley. “I’ve been looking for you!”

“You have?”

He nods excitedly. “I was afraid I wouldn’t find you in time! 'Much Ado About Nothing' is performing at the Globe for a few more weeks!”

Crowley blinks. “And?”

He pouts. “It’s a comedy! I thought you liked the comedies. I thought you’d want to go see it with me.”

“Angel, I –” he stops, barely hiding a grimace because of the expectant, happy look in Aziraphale’s eyes. He does remember mentioning that he wasn’t a fan of the gloomy plays, but he never said he liked the comedies, either. To be frank, he just wasn’t much of a play person. It’s a lot of standing and talking. He much rather prefers musical theatre, where music accompanies singing and dancing. They’re much more lively and interesting. “I can’t see Shakespeare again. I don’t want to deal with that embarrassment,” he says instead.

“Oh, come on! Just because of one slip up, one little lie, and you can honestly tell me you’d rather never see a play directed by the best writer this century?”

“Sounds like you’re getting your opinions mixed in there, angel.” It’s not a direct yes or no, but maybe he can change the subject – Aziraphale furrows his eyebrows just the slightest, and Crowley rolls his eyes. “Oh, alright. We’ll go see the play.”

Aziraphale lights up. “Oh, wonderful! We should go to the afternoon showing tomorrow. I’ll meet you there!” He walks away whistling merrily, leaving Crowley to grumble as he leaves and forgets to pull his coin prank.

The next afternoon, Aziraphale already has the tickets when Crowley joins him outside the theatre, and together, they find a place on the balconies again. 

“Would you like a snack before the show starts, angel? I see the woman just over there; I’ll get something if you want.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, Crowley. Can you see if there are any grapes?”

He sneers. “Shut up.” Leaving Aziraphale to hold their place, he saunters through the crowd to buy the grapes. He pulls the money he needs out of thin air, no longer worried about Hell asking about it, and he carefully cradles the bunch as he cuts back through the people gathered. He doesn’t quite make it, however, freezing at the sight of a familiar man next to Aziraphale. He internally groans as he looks up, counting the boards of the ceiling as he attempts to keep himself calm and collected before forcing his feet forward towards the pair.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Aziraphale says when he notices Crowley coming back, taking the grapes from him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Shakespeare greets. “I heard you two came along today because you’re particularly fond of the comedies. I myself don’t have a favorite, which is why my plays all fall under different categories, but it’s always good to hear people coming because it’s one of their favorites.”

He forces a smile. “Yes, I’m not the greatest fan of anything gloomy. I usually just tag along with him, because he loves – well, mostly everything to do with theatre.”

Aziraphale smiles at him and Crowley notices Shakespeare smiling too. 

“How goes it on the family situation? I’d hate for you two to have to keep going behind their backs because they don’t approve.”

Aziraphale grimaces. “Nothing’s changed, I’m afraid. I don’t know if it ever will.”

“I suppose the only thing that would get us away from them is death,” Crowley tries to joke, but it came out a lot darker than he intended.

Scoffing, Aziraphale says, “Don’t joke like that, Crowley. That’s not something you should be joking about!”

However, Shakespeare looks intrigued. “Well, I should get going, since the show’s about to start. Do catch up with me after; I’d love to hear what you thought!”

“We’ll try!” Aziraphale calls after him as he hurries away.

Crowley turns back to lean over the railing. “We most certainly will not. I can’t stand talking to him when he thinks we’re together. And that thing about our families being rivals. How does he believe that? How does he even remember?”

Aziraphale gently covers Crowley’s hand with his own, causing Crowley’s heart to beat faster. “Don’t fret about it, dear. Humans all work differently, but they aren’t forever.” He heaves a shaking breath. “If it makes you feel better, eventually he won’t be around anymore, and then we can give up this charade, and everything will go back to normal.”

Crowley spares a glance at him, definitely not looking at his lips and not thinking about how much he wants to kiss them. He looks down at the floor and grits his teeth. “Yeah. Normal.” The crowd hushes as the play begins, and Crowley is saved from continuing that conversation.   
~<3~<3~  
_Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky gives us free scope; only doth backward pull our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. What power is it which mounts my love so high, that makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? The mightiest space in fortune nature brings to join like likes, and kiss like native things. Impossible be strange attempts to those that weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose what hath been cannot be. Who ever strove to show her merit that did miss her love? The king’s disease,—my project may deceive me, but my intents are fix’d, and will not leave me._  
~Helena, _All’s Well That Ends Well_, Act I Scene I  
~<3~<3~  
“Crowley!”

He turns at the sudden yelling of his name, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk at the sound of Aziraphale. A couple of people around him grumble about it, but he ignores them as Aziraphale comes running over, waving an envelope in his hand. 

“Now, dear, I know how you feel about going to see a show from Shakespeare–”

“Crowley cuts him off with a groan. “I haven’t seen you in a year, and this is the first thing you say?”

“Oh hush.” He pulls a piece of parchment out of the envelope. “I received this letter today from Shakespeare for the both of us, so you should at least hear it.” He purses his lips and looks at Crowley pointedly. 

Sighing, Crowley gives in. “Oh, alright.”

Clearing his throat, Aziraphale reads the letter out. “Dear sirs, it is with great pleasure that I am sending you this letter. Inside the envelope, you will note two free tickets to my newest work, ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ For my most enthused patrons, it is the least I can do. I hope to see you there. William Shakespeare.”

“How about no.”

“Crowley! The man sent us tickets free of charge; he obviously wants us to go! If he’s willing to lose the money on this, then I think we ought to go.”

“Trust me, angel. With how popular I made him, losing the money on two tickets because he gave them away is nothing to him. He’s, like, a thousandaire.”

“Free! Tickets! To! The! Theatre!”

“A! Lifetime! Of! Embarrassment!”

Aziraphale glares. But it’s not just a glare. There’s a hint of a pout in it, too.

“Angel,” Crowley says through gritted teeth. “Ugh! Fine. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he says, cheerfully.

He sighs. “No, I don’t. When are we going?”

“There’s a showing tonight!”

Crowley finds himself being dragged out into the center of the theatre later that night, on the ground in front of the stage. Aziraphale wants to be close enough to the stage to encourage the new performers. Crowley just wants to hide. Maybe, just _maybe_, Shakespeare won’t find them if they hide in the middle of the crowd.

Speak of the devil – human – Shakespeare himself comes out onto the stage, and applause races through the crowds before he raises his hands to quiet them.

“Thank you! Thank you. I am ecstatic to see the theatre packed for the opening of my new play, Romeo and Juliet.” He quickly scans the crowd, smiling when his eyes land on Aziraphale and Crowley. “This idea came from the help of two acquaintances who I will not name, but you know who you are. I hope you enjoy.”

Crowley frowns as Shakespeare exits the stage to more thunderous applause, but Aziraphale seems too invested to have noticed. That last statement was definitely directed towards the two of them, but he can’t recall how they would have inspired an entire show. If it was just Aziraphale, maybe, since he does seem to be friends with him, other than just acquaintances, but he said two.

The chorus enters the stage and sets the scene, and Crowley gets a nagging feeling that something in it sounds familiar. The Capulets and the Montagues, both rivaling households, fighting when they see the other on the streets – Crowley makes a strangled noise in his throat while Romeo is on stage, realizing what happened. Shakespeare took their entire fake backstory and turned it into a tragedy. He flushes pink and tries to shrink in on himself, utterly embarrassed but not willing to leave Aziraphale.

It takes longer for Aziraphale to realize it. He’s too caught up in enjoying the performance to actually notice how the plot is forming. In fact, it’s not until the balcony scene, when Juliet is up high, and Romeo is down low, confessing their forbidden love to each other – “Oh my goodness they’re supposed to be us,” he mutters, heat rising in his cheeks.

“It took you long enough,” Crowley says in an equally low tone.

“Maybe we’ve taken this too far…”

“Oh, so now you think so!”

Aziraphale glares at him. “But it is too late now. We can’t just drop off the face of the earth, or he’ll think he did something bad and not write anymore.”

Crowley groans, gaining some glares from the audience around him. “Fine. But I’m not talking to him today.”

Later, after the play is finished and the actors have gone through their bows, Shakespeare tries to find the pair to see what they thought, but he can’t find them among the crowd, almost as if they disappeared by some miracle. It was probably more demonic than angelic, though.  
~<3~<3~  
_Go not about; my love hath in’t a bond whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose the state of your affection, for your passions have to the full appeach’d._  
~Countess, _All’s Well That Ends Well_, Act I Scene III  
~<3~<3~  
“I am only coming for research purposes,” Crowley says, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he and Aziraphale walk towards the Globe once again.

“Research? Dear, this is a play. I thought you were coming because I said you can’t keep avoiding Shakespeare when you were the one to make him popular.”

“It is a historical play, angel. It has facts. Henry VIII was one of ours, so I can add this to my ‘why I made Shakespeare popular’ report. Spreading the history of something of Hell’s.”

“He wasn’t yours specifically, was he?” Aziraphale asks, suddenly hesitant.

“Good Lor – Sat – someone, do you really think that low of me? I might be a demon, but I’m not going to tempt people into killing each other. Especially not their wives! If I remember correctly, it was Ligur. Had him sell his soul for a son, and said in the contract that if his wife didn’t bear a son, there was interference and he should kill them. Ligur barely lifted a finger to spread that chaos.”

“Well, the past is the past. Demons will be demons.” He glances at Crowley. “Mostly.”

“Mostly? What does that mean?!”

“Nothing, my dear.” Aziraphale leads them into the theatre, finding a suitable spot in the outer ring of the bottom floor. “It’s ineffable.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “You and your damned ineffability. It’s 1613, are you ever going to let that go?”

Aziraphale answers with a knowing smile, but otherwise stays silent.

The play begins without Shakespeare knowing they are there, which is a score in Crowley’s book. The less he has to interact with Shakespeare, the better. He had come onto the stage to introduce the show before handing the platform over to the actors, and as soon as it started, Crowley regretted coming. It was one thing to be forced into seeing a show with Aziraphale – as much as he complained, it was nice to spend time with him. What brings about his regrets is the brutal reminder of just how awful the other demons are. And they actually enjoy doing things like this.

Of course, nothing lasts forever. The end of act I looms closer and closer, but it never reaches its peak, as the roof of the theatre has been enveloped by a burning, fiery halo. Screams echo out as the audience starts a mad frenzy for the exit – all except two members. Aziraphale and Crowley spare a glance at each other before running in opposite directions. Crowley runs for the stairs, while Aziraphale runs into the middle of the floor. 

Cutting through the crowd of people streaming to the ground is a hard thing to do, but luckily, Crowley doesn’t care about manners. He pushes through the others as he climbs to the top, dangerously close to the flames above as he keeps a watchful eye out to make sure everyone leaves. Cloaks hang haphazardly around the balcony, already starting to catch fire, and suddenly, he feels the pulsing of a powerful miracle from below. Aziraphale is busy making sure the fire won’t take over the whole building before everyone can leave. He can’t hold off the fire completely, as not even Crowley could do that, but he can slow the licking flame’s progress down the wooden walls.

A harsh scream catches Crowley’s ears, and his head snaps in the direction, seeing a child on the same level as him, trapped by burning cloaks and a couple pieces of the falling roof, which start to eat at the wooden floor of the balcony. He leaps into action, pushing past the last of the audience before dodging fire and falling thatch. He leaps the flames to get to the small boy, quickly shielding him as more of the roof falls in, catching Crowley’s arm. He hisses in pain before scooping the child into his arms, holding him tightly as he runs back to the stairs. He follows the last of the crowds out and carefully pries the boy’s arms from around his neck, setting him on the ground.

“Are you alright, sir?” the child asks, pointing to Crowley’s burnt sleeve. His arm is burned underneath, but he's suffered through worse. The pain of this burn is nothing compared to the Fall.

“It’s nothing,” he answers, but before the boy can say anything else, a woman runs over and scoops him into her arms, blubbering nonsense through her tears.

Seeing the boy is fine, Crowley runs back for the theatre, the fire now taking over the second floor and getting dangerously close to the ground. He still hasn’t seen Aziraphale outside yet, and knowing him, he’d keep himself in harm’s way until everyone else is safe, risking discorporation. The paperwork to get a new body would take ages to go through. Crowley doesn’t know he could be that long without Aziraphale. There’s always the risk they’d send a different angel down in his place, too, and he definitely doesn’t want that. 

Just as he’s about to break through the edge of the watching crowd, the last of the humans trickle out of the theatre, Aziraphale right behind them. It’s just in time, too, as the wall starts to collapse into the theatre.

“Angel!” Crowley calls out to him, and they meet on the edge of the converging crowd.

“Oh, dear, you’re hurt!” Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s arm to examine the burn.

“It’s nothing, angel. Just a quick fix.”

“How did that even happen?”

Crowley scratches the back of his neck. “I saved a child. For nefarious reasons, of course.”

Aziraphale smiles fondly. “Of course.” They stare at each other for a few long seconds, and Crowley is about to confess his love right then and there before they are interrupted.

“Gentlemen, I must apologize,” Shakespeare starts, and the two jump apart quickly.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Aziraphale says quickly, wincing at the sound of more of the building collapsing behind them. “Accidents happen.”

“It was a miracle everyone made it out alright. Besides the poor chap who’s trousers caught fire, but he dumped his ale on him, and is otherwise alright.”

Aziraphale starts to say something but Crowley jumps in quickly instead, hiding his arm. “Yes, it rather was. We’re all fine here, though.”

“That’s good to hear. Now, though, I’m afraid I’ll have to find a new theatre.” They all look to the burning building, watching the smoke billowing into the otherwise clear sky. “There’s no recovering this.”

“You could always rebuild,” Aziraphale offers. “The greatest works of human – er– our history are always crumbling and being rebuilt.”

He nods. “Perhaps you’re right. I should make sure all the actors are alright, if you’d excuse me.”

With Shakespeare gone, Crowley notices that Aziraphale’s eyes linger on the slowly dying flames. “Are you alright?”

“It’s like Alexandria all over again.”

Crowley doesn’t need to ask what that means to Aziraphale. He remembers how long it took to console Aziraphale after he couldn’t save the library. Instead, he takes a risk and throws an arm over Aziraphale’s shoulder, pulling him close in comfort. “I’m, uh. I’m here if you need me.”

Aziraphale leans into him, gently resting his head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”  
~<3~<3~  
_Thou hast frighted the word out of his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I must tell thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge, and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?_  
~Benedick, _Much Ado About Nothing_, Act V, Scene II  
~<3~<3~  
Crowley let himself into Aziraphale’s house, empty other than the books and furniture. He paces the rooms as he waits for Aziraphale to come back, worrying his lip. He’s already bitten his nails down to their beds, so his lip is the next best thing. The door creaks open, and he steps into the hall. Aziraphale looks strange in all black.

“I came over as soon as I heard,” he starts as Aziraphale closes the door behind him. “I wasn’t sure where you’d be.”

“It was a beautiful ceremony. You should have seen it.” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, his eyes red-rimmed and teary.

“I would have, angel, I promise. I didn’t know it was today. I only know because someone was talking about it on the sidewalk when I got back from delivering my report to Hell. I’m sorry. I wish I had been there with you.”

“It’s not like you were very fond of him anyway,” he says as he pushes past Crowley, heading to the kitchen. 

“Fond or not, you pay respects to the dead.” He follows him through the house. “I know the two of you were friends; I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Death is inevitable, for humans. There’s nothing I can do to stop that. Sure, it hurts. But isn’t life better with friendships than wasting away alone with only acquaintances?”

“You don’t need to hide your grieving from me, angel.”

He takes a slice of cake from his cake plate before saying, “The time for grieving has come and went. All that’s left is to move on.” He takes a bite before finishing, “It’s all for the best, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shakespeare’s dead. We no longer have to keep up the facade of being married. No one else knew.” He looks forlornly at the cake.

Something stirs in Crowley’s chest at Aziraphale’s words – something he should have said a long time ago. “What if – what if I don’t want to?”

Aziraphale looks up, confused. “Why wouldn’t you want to? You seemed to hate it every time Shakespeare confronted us and we had to pretend.”

“I didn’t hate it for the reason you think.”

“Then what other reason could there possibly be?!” He sets the half-eaten cake down to turn his full attention on Crowley.

“It’s because – It’s because I love you, dammit! I love you, angel, I have since Eden, and pretending to be in a relationship in public but knowing it was all false killed me! I want you to be mine, and only mine, forever and always. Why would I like pretending about my heart's desire? Why would I –”

He’s cut off by the sudden rush of Aziraphale pressing their lips together. Crowley freezes in shock, his eyes wide but unseeing. Aziraphale finally pulls away and places his hands on Crowley’s wrists, giving him a few seconds to recuperate.

“My dear, I thought I was the only one,” he admits quietly.

“The only – you mean, you’ve been in love with me too?”

He nods. “Not since Eden, I’m afraid. It took me longer to realize. But I am completely sure of one thing, and that is that I love you, dear.”

“I… I… I don’t know what to say.” He presses their foreheads together as a small smile creeps onto his face.

“I think you’ve said plenty. Sometimes actions are better than words, dear. Don't feel you need to say any more; vows will come in time.”

“By yonder blessed moon I vow, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops–,” he starts, teasing.

“O swear not by the moon,” Aziraphale interrupts. “The inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.”

“I don’t have the whole thing memorized, angel–”

“Your best will be just fine, my dear.”

He nods. “What shall I swear by?”

“Do not swear at all. Or if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I’ll believe thee.”

“Angel!” Crowley squeaks. “That’s a sin!”

“I am merely reciting the lines. You were the one to start this.”

“But–”

“What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?” Aziraphale continues, skipping some lines and running his hand along Crowley’s arm.

He gulps. “The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; and yet I would it were to give again.” He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Crowley’s lips, sealing their love together as they melt into each other.  
~<3~<3~  
_I pledge your Grace; and if you knew what pains I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, you would drink freely; but my love to ye shall show itself more openly hereafter._  
~Westmoreland, _Henry IV, Part II_, Act IV Scene II

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over [here on tumblr](https://pearlll09.tumblr.com) if you wanna say hi!


End file.
